Page 63 of Mafia King's Bride

Now there’s a pleasant surprise.

“Brother!” Yelena greets me with her usual exuberance. I allow her embrace, mentally counting the seconds until I can extricate myself.

“You can let go now,” I say after a while.

She chatters away, mentioning lunch plans with Ana. My interest piques, though I’m careful not to show it.

“Do you need a ride?” I offer, aiming for casual indifference.

Yelena’s eyes widen comically. “Eh? Are you feeling alright, brother?”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”

She sees right through me, of course. Always too perceptive for her own good. “I won’t assume you wanted to use me as an excuse to see Ana,” she teases.

I consider telling her the truth but decide against it. Some vulnerabilities are best kept hidden, even from family. Especially from family.

“Alright,” I say, waving her off. “See you when I see you.”

As the door closes behind her, I sigh, running a hand through my hair. This softness I’m feeling toward Ana is distracting.

“It’s better you didn’t, Dmitri,” I mutter to myself. “Some might see that as being clingy.”

The very word makes me shudder. I am Dmitri Orlov. I don’t do clingy. I’m a man who’s just discovered he likes his wife, nothing more.

To prove it to myself, I dive back into work. There are empires to topple and rivals to crush. No time for sentiment in this world of ours.

But even as I focus on spreadsheets and strategic maneuvers, a part of my mind lingers on Ana. On her smile, her laugh, the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.

TWENTY-THREE

ANA

Picture this: me, standing in the airport like a human billboard, holding a sign over my head that says “Welcome back, favorite brother!” Because nothing says, “I missed you” more than potential shoulder strain, right?

I spot Viktor emerging from behind what looks like the entire inventory of a luggage store. He sees my sign and starts laughing.

I drop the sign and run toward him, nearly taking out a few innocent bystanders in the process. We collide in a hug that’s part bear, part octopus, and all awkward public display of affection.

“Viktor!” I squeak, probably sounding more like an excited chipmunk than a dignified adult. “Welcome back to the land of the free and home of the Bratva!”

He kisses the top of my head, which is sweet but also reminds me that I’ll always be the baby sister. “Your face makes it worth returning to this country,” he says, ever the charmer.

As we pull apart, he looks me up and down. “You’ve grown! What are you now, eighteen?”

I roll my eyes so hard, I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. “Ha ha, very funny. You know, some of us actually age. We can’t all be time-traveling vampires like you.”

He pinches my cheek like I’m still four. “Aw, where’s my little sister?”

“She grew up and got a life,” I quip. “Also, therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.”

We head to the parking lot, where Viktor predictably calls dibs on driving. I toss him the keys, silently praying he remembers which side of the road we drive on here.

As we merge into traffic, miraculously without incident, Viktor asks about my job. “Still keeping the scum of the earth out of prison?”

I give him a look that could curdle milk. “Hey, someone’s got to keep Papa’s friends in business, right?”

Two hours later, we’re sitting in a West Village restaurant. Viktor’s inhaling his sandwich like he’s afraid it might run away.

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